The Apple Tree




Ah! she still stands!
The apple tree in the backyard of my old house,
planted right next to the garage.
As a child, I used to climb this tree
like a livid leopard,
trying to reach its luscious apples.
Those were the good old days:
not caring for anyone but myself.
I lived to have fun,
to be young,
to be innocent.

Some days,
I’d tie a rope around one of its limbs
and swing like Spiderman—
not Tarzan,
he’s lame.
Other days,
I’d tie some old used up towel around my neck,
jump onto the garage from the tree
and fly like Superman—
not Shazam!,
he’s lame also.
But I always took a time out to eat
those tasty apples.

 
Well,
I’m grown up now and all my good old days
have long since abandoned me.
I no longer have fun,
I’m no longer young
and I’m all but innocent.
The tree is rotted and dead.
It’s stripped naked of its bark.
It no longer resembles the colorful tree of old.
It no longer bears the sweet fruit
that used to sustain my little body.
Its decrepit, old limbs reach for the sky,
as if salvation would come to claim it.
And the rope is all that remains.

This tree was my best friend.
She looks as lonely as I am.
Like a good friend,
I’ll keep her company,
and I’ll ask the rope to assist me one more time—
like Dr. Kevorkian!
Not Dr. Ruth,
she’s the lamest.
 
Nightmarish Rhyme


Out of the light and into the night,
My body longs for its coffin;
For I’m called Maniac and Insomniac,
Taunting that will never soften.
Within me a child screams of frightening dreams
And no one seems to care;
Freddy Krueger creeps as the Sandman weeps—
Too much for me to bear!

I explained my pain to a shrink in Spain—
He thought I was mad!
“Mad you say! I haven’t slept since May.
Just ask my dog dubbed Brad.”
I became very pissed, like a snake I hissed,
Ready to bite his face;
So I left his office, cursing him a novice—
His own head he should replace!

I don’t care anymore, life’s a bore,
I want some real action;
After a violent fit, I must admit:
Nightmares are my attraction.

As I prepare my grave, I pray the Lord my soul to save:
“Please forgive me for I’m sick.”
With a glass of champagne and a pint of Night Train,
I swallowed some arsenic.
With no kin bereft, I have nothing else left:
No children, no friends, no wife.
And now I must leave, to forever dream-weave,
So ends this story and my life.
 
Colors




Black, red, ashy grey:
The colors of death and slow decay

Green, lime, navy blue:
The colors of spring that sprout anew

Gold, bronze, silver steel:
The colors of fortune that appeal

White, pink, tawny clay:
The colors of life soon fade away
 
The Portrait




It was a cold,
dead night at my stepfather’s house—
how I loathe that house!
Brushing away the cobwebs from our family portrait,
it seems so ancient,
so long ago.
My memory is hazy and out of focus,
but I do remember the sad times.
I can’t remember any happy times,
except for this portrait.

It has been many years
since I’ve last visited here—
so dark, dank and devoid
this house has always been.
I decided to make a small fire.
Now it feels a little warm and cozy in here.
The guilt,
the lies,
the tragic end I cannot forget.
It haunts me forever,
gnawing at my soul
like buzzards to a rotting corpse.

 
My poor mother.
The abuse was too much for her.
She eventually found her freedom…
at the end of a rifle.

As for me,
I couldn’t stand the pain any longer.
My stepfather had to die,
that drunken bastard.
My real father would never lay a hand on me.

But,
justice was served.
I only did two years in the insane asylum—
A slap on the wrist.
Coming back to this deprave-filled home,
I feel purged.

This portrait is the only thing
left of my family’s past.
I can almost hear my stepfather’s ghost
screaming and wailing
for me to join him on the other side.
The very thought would even make
my shrink shrivel and shriek.

With that,
I threw the portrait into the fire

and departed.
 
Fishing




Ola! my alluring, angelic swan!—
You thought fishing was boring and dumb;
Until that silver lake you gazed upon,
Then you knew ‘delight’ would be the sum.
I’ve always enjoyed watching you fish,
To see that elfish smile on your face;
Let this picture remain my dying wish,
Frozen and framed in memory’s place.
Sitting, joking and laughing side by side,
You make all my sorrows disappear;
Internally I have nothing to hide—
I’ll tell you all my secrets, my dear.
Oh! so easily you’ve captured my love!—
With all of your hook, line and sinker;
My feelings for you soar high and above—
I’m plastered like a heavy drinker.

Not so long (and not shortly thereafter),
You caught something strange and far apart:
“Look!” you cried, with your sweet little laughter.
I said, “That’s not a fish, but my heart.”
 
The Raven




I am…

Like a raven—
A bad omen!
Crafty, macabre;
Always wandering about,
Looking at what other people do.
Sharp, penetrating eyes—
No one can put down my stare.
Dark, lustrous, pitch-black feathers
Cascade my beautiful, small body
Like a priceless, sequined dress.
Mysteriously, I pop up everywhere.
Always at the wrong place, at the wrong time—
Hearing nothing but mocked curses at me.

I am…

The raven!

Everywhere I go,
People wish I would leave
As soon as I arrive.